


It's. Always. You.

by ArchOfImagine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:51:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchOfImagine/pseuds/ArchOfImagine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has glimpsed a thousand different outcomes... and Dean is the answer in each of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coffee Shop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hufflecas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflecas/gifts).



> THIS is a very special not-so-surprising birthday gift for the wonderful light of my life [hufflecas](http://hufflecas.tumblr.com)! She's so amazing that she beta'd her own birthday fic and then subsequently wrote the sexy time scene in it.
> 
> If you're confused about the enormous list of alternate universe scenarios... well I can't help you there. Just sit back and enjoy the ride through the most popular tropes and alternate universes that the destiel fandom has every utilized! (With my added bit of spin for creativity's sake!)

_It’s always blue eyes staring into my soul._

\---

Dean loved coffee. With a passion. Most days, if someone caught him before or during that first bitterly sweet cup of joe, he would say that it was better than sex. He loved the smell of the roasted beans, the smooth slide of hot dark liquid down his throat, and the sudden burst of energy he got when the cup was empty.

Dean also loved coffee shops. It was just a given. For the coffee enthusiast/lover, the coffee shop was a mecca of coffee appreciation. The aroma always clung to the air, the people always smiled as they graciously offered more. It was heaven on earth.

Unlike most coffee enthusiasts, however, he was not partial to one particular brand or roast. As long as it was black and hot and filling his cup, he loved it. Because of that fact, his favorite coffee shop was only labeled his ‘favorite’ because of the vicinity it held to his apartment. Five minutes. That was all the time it took to go from his doorstep, to the pretty brunette cashier that offered sweet sweet caffeinated goodness.

Yes, it was a waste of money. Yes, he had a perfectly capable coffee machine sitting on his kitchen counter. No, he didn’t indulge in coffee shop coffee _every_ day. He limited himself to three days a week. Mondays, because… well, they were _Mondays._ Wednesdays, because by the middle of the week he needed a pick-me-up. And Saturdays… because he was lazy and didn’t feel like making his own coffee on the weekend.

Three days out of seven wasn’t that bad. At least his favorite place wasn’t an expensive chain that wanted almost five dollars for a God damn cup of black coffee.

It was a cold December Saturday when Dean’s life changed. He stepped out of his apartment building onto the busy city street and followed the sidewalk to the corner shop. Hands tucked into his jacket, he contemplated how the hot coffee would immediately warm him and wake him up. He had shit to get done at home and the only way it was going to happen was with a nice shot of caffeine in his bloodstream. 

Dean was so engrossed with his thoughts that he grabbed the handle of the coffee shop’s door and pulled without looking up. It didn’t budge, and he smacked none-too-gracefully into the glass. Pulling back, he stared at the handle in confusion and tried again. _Nope._

It was a testament to how badly he needed coffee to function—that it took his brain way too long to realize what was wrong. A sign right at eye level was taped on the inside of the door and held one word. _Closed._

“No!” he exclaimed, his voice perhaps a little loud and obnoxious considering he was yelling at a door. Closed? It couldn’t be closed!

“I’m fairly certain sure it’s because it’s Christmas.” 

A still-too-slow brain told Dean that the door had replied to him. Common sense made him turn and realize that a man was standing beside him on the street, bundled against the cold weather and staring at Dean curiously.

“Christmas?” Dean looked up, meeting the blue eyes that were watching him carefully. He shook his head, adamantly denying that fact to the stranger before him. “No. No. It’s not Christmas.” Dean glanced at the watch on his wrist, wanting to prove the other man wrong by reading off the date that flashed on the device. “See, it’s December 25th—”

“Right. Also known as… _Christmas._ ”

“Fuck!” He slammed his hand against the glass of the locked door of the good-for-nothing-God-damn-useless coffee shop. He needed coffee. He had to have coffee. 

He pouted suddenly. It was Saturday. Grocery day. His house didn’t even have coffee! There was no plan B!

“Don’t you live in the Reynolds building? Second floor?”

With a frown, Dean noticed the blue-eyed stranger still standing on the sidewalk staring at him. Apparently the stranger _knew_ him. At least well enough to know where he lived. Hell, Dean might know the guy too, if he’d had any coffee in his system. “Yeah.”

“Come on.” The guy pulled his hand from his pocket and waved at Dean before starting to walk back towards Dean’s building. “I live in 318, the floor above you. I’ve seen you getting the mail before. I’ve got a perfectly good coffee maker and the best Colombian blend you’ll ever try.”

Considering that the guy could be a serial killer, or a stalker, or well… _anyone_ , it was probably a stupid idea for Dean to follow him.

But… he had coffee. He was promising Dean a cup of coffee. And if it really was Christmas, none of the stores would be open for Dean to go buy coffee… so he had no other options. 

He followed like a stray puppy looking for handouts. 

They were in the Reynolds building elevator before it occurred to Dean that he should probably at least offer the guy his name. “I’m Dean, by the way.”

The man smiled, making those vivid blue eyes twinkle. “Castiel. It’s nice to finally meet you, Dean.”

In an apartment that was identical to his, minus the worn out furniture and AC/DC poster, Dean sat at a handcrafted oak table and waited patiently for Castiel’s coffee to brew. It only took a few minutes for the cup to be placed on the table in front of him. It steamed up from the simple porcelain mug, and the smell alone made him want to cry out in happiness. 

It took half a cup before his brain started to function properly. He looked around the sparse furnishings of the apartment’s interior and didn’t notice a single Christmas decoration. Granted, his place looked similar, but that had to do with the fact that he hardly bothered to remember holidays now that his family lived on the other side of the country.

“Not a festive guy, huh?”

Castiel shrugged a shoulder, clutching his own mug of coffee. “Buddhist. Not really my thing.”

The more his brain woke up, the more Dean realized that he had indeed seen Castiel in passing before. He had admired the man’s looks on more than a few occasions. Considering his work schedule, though, he hardly had time for dating or any of the effort it required. Watching Castiel swallowing sips of coffee made him wish that fact wasn’t true. 

The guy was his type, up one side and down the other.

Shaking away the thoughts, Dean focused on finishing his coffee. When the cup was empty, a pout formed on his lips at the sight. _Damn._ Was it impolite to ask for more? Because he really wanted more.

“Refill?” Castiel asked.

Dean lit up at the word. “Yes, please.” He watched anxiously as Castiel stood and carried his empty mug into the kitchen to refill it.

When he came back, he set the mug down in front of Dean… but made no move to sit back down in his own chair.

Instead, he bent forward, fingers brushing through Dean’s hair and tugging to tilt Dean’s head backwards so that Castiel could catch his lips in a kiss.

Dean’s mouth opened in surprise and Castiel took full advantage—letting his tongue glide inside and tangle with Dean’s.

What Dean had failed to learn, in his time as a coffee enthusiast, was that the best part about the drink was tasting it on Castiel’s tongue.


	2. Strip Club

_It’s always tan skin beneath my fingers._

\---

The biggest hit on ladies’ night was _always_ the angel. Dean couldn’t really blame them. Tan skin stretching over tight muscles with every grind and shift to the music was enough to make anyone go crazy.

When the dancers were on stage the bar was at its slowest, so Dean liked to take a few moments to admire the svelte bodies as they moved around the poles. It was probably in poor taste to enjoy the show when he should be working but, considering his brother owned the joint, he didn’t much care if he got caught.

If the blue eyes drifting over the crowd to catch his were anything to go by, the angel didn’t much care either. 

Pole gripped securely in his right hand, the angel dipped backwards in a move that shouldn’t be legal and gyrated his hips to the music. Dean watched, catching sight of the shining metal glint of the angel’s nipple ring.

He knew from personal experience that the ring he was staring at was connected directly to the angel’s dick. One swift tug with greedy teeth meant a shuddering moan and leaking pre-come. 

The part that Dean loved most about the man dancing before him was the fact that the women in the room actually thought they had a shot. They had absolutely no idea that the angel preferred a dick in his ass and had only fucked a pussy once.

\---

Sometimes Dean walked into his apartment and groaned at the sight of glitter spread out over the kitchen table. No matter how often he begged for all the craft supplies to be kept in the guest room, they still trailed out to the main living area.

Probably because his complaining about it was usually quieted with a delightfully naughty experience. It was almost impossible to stay mad at the angel.

“Hey sweets,” he whispered, dipping his head to place a soft kiss on messy black hair. “Wing repair again?”

The angel nodded, obviously distracted by the task at hand. Dean happily admired the sight of his favorite stripper wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, glasses on and sliding down his nose. 

Spread out over the table were two black wings, the angel’s signature look when he was on stage. It seemed more than a little blasphemous for the star of the strip club to be a guy dressed as an angel - but that didn’t stop the ladies (and occasional gentlemen) from loving it. Dean couldn’t blame them really. There was a reason why he had brought the angel home all those months ago and never let him leave. 

“Alright, mister, enough arts and crafts for the night.” It was fairly typical for Dean to have to literally drag his boyfriend away from his task and remind him of important things like sleeping and eating. That night was definitely no different. He brushed his hands from the angel’s shoulders down over the soft cotton that covered his chest, and let his teeth graze over the angel’s earlobe. “Leave this for tomorrow and come with me to bed.”

“But Dean,” he grumbled, fingers still working rapidly to fix the loose feathers of his black wing. “I should really get this finished.”

It looked like someone wanted to play hard to get. Dean used both hands to tweak at the angel’s nipples through his shirt, tugging gently on the small silver ring. When he heard a sharp intake of air, he knew he held his boyfriend’s full attention. “Remember what I promised you, angel? It’s Monday night and I made you a promise.”

Another gasp; Dean could practically feel the angel’s anticipation stirring beneath his skin. He glanced down, happy to notice the tent formed in those soft gray sweatpants. 

“It’s Monday?”

“Yes.” Dean drew back, putting a step between their bodies. “So are you going to sit here all night playing with glitter - or are you going to handcuff me to the bed and fuck my brains out?”

The chair shoved back from the table so fast that it almost hit Dean. He took another step back just in time to avoid getting hit in the balls by the damn flying furniture. While he was still contemplating how much that could have hurt, his arms were quickly filled by a six foot tall horny angel. 

He couldn’t help but smile against the demanding kiss. Someone was finally getting with the program. Opening his mouth up to his angel’s insistent tongue, he let his hand drift beneath soft cotton and trace over warm tan skin. 

The feeling of having his senses overwhelmed by everything that was his boyfriend, always reminded him of how God damn lucky he was.

So many people got to see the angel dance, watching - never allowed to touch. 

Dean got to look, touch, taste… all of it. And it was amazing. 

The angel grasped his hand, pulling him out of the dining room and down the hall toward the bedroom. Dean followed with a ridiculous smile on his face, eyes drifting down to watch those damn hips swaying with each step. 

“Fuck, angel, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

His boyfriend didn’t respond until he was standing in the middle of their bedroom, clothes tossed aside in record breaking time. “Don’t worry, Dean. Please me well enough and I’ll get you a first class ticket to heaven.” He winked. “The benefits of dating an angel.”


	3. College

_It’s always a deep voice saying my name._

\---

The standard dorm room is between 130 and 150 square feet and is furnished with two beds, matching desks, and two built in closets. If a student was lucky, they could upgrade to a deluxe room with an extra hundred square feet and a bathroom.

Dean Winchester was not lucky.

In the game of ‘roommate roulette’ Dean got saddled with the the most sexually promiscuous college freshman in history. The guy _bathed_ in cologne and aftershave and found regaling Dean with all of his sexual exploits to be much more entertaining than studying for midterms. It took half a term to convince his roommate that _no_ , Dean did not want to have a threesome, and _yes_ it was polite to leave a note on the door so that Dean knew when not to enter.

In the six weeks since the beginning of the fall semester, Dean had walked in on the guy having sex exactly six times. One of these days he expected to walk in and find prescription bottles for herpes or some other sexually transmitted disease. There was no way the kid was smart enough to remember to wrap his dick each time.

When he finished his last class late on a cold November afternoon, he walked back into his dorm building wanting nothing more than to wrap himself up in his bed and take a nap. Whoever deemed calculus to be a necessary evil should be shot and then shot again. His brain _hurt_ and despite the five page essay that was due for his philosophy class in two days, Dean had no desire to study for at least twelve hours. 

Unfortunately, when he rounded the corner and started down the hall towards his room, he noticed the bright orange tie draped around the doorknob.

_God damn it._

He dropped his bag beside the door and slumped against the wall, sinking down to the worn and stained tan carpet. There was no way he was going back outside in the cold. And he really didn’t want to have to hole up in the library or even a café for the next who knew how long. Considering his options, his lumpy book bag started to look incredibly inviting. 

Dean leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, experimentally. He must have drifted off, because the next thing he heard was a sentiment all-too-familiar.

“God damn it.”

Blinking one eye open, Dean looked to his left and down the hall. Three doors down, a dark-haired student stood clutching a backpack and glaring at the door. Dean could just barely make out a ‘do not enter’ sign hanging in front of the other guy. Everyone had their own variation of the same system.

“My sympathies,” Dean stated, loud enough to travel three doors down.

His fellow student turned at the sound and Dean felt his stomach do a flip thanks to the penetrating gaze. 

“These people know that a university is for _learning_ and not _sex_ right? I mean, it’s every fucking day with this guy.”

Dean thought the intimidating steel blue eyes were striking - until the guy spoke. The deep gravelly tone was intense on a whole new level. He could probably talk the panties off of a lesbian. Dean imagined sex Gods talked like the man before him. 

He stifled a moan and motioned to the wall across from where he sat. “Care to join me on my campout?”

There was a pause for consideration, before he shrugged and moved down the hall to sit across from Dean. “Cas,” he provided, stretching across the four feet that separated them and offering his hand.

Dean smiled, happily reaching forward to shake Cas’ hand. “Dean Winchester.”

He watched in fascination as those damn blue eyes glanced over the books overflowing out of his bag. Cas pointed. “Calc? You have Stevenson for it?”

“I do,” Dean answered. He really had no desire to think about calculus at that moment. He rather preferred daydreaming about alone time with a naked Cas and for once being the guy to put the tie on the door.

“Same. Knew I recognized you. You always sit near the back by the exit. That must be how you beat me home today.” His words drifted into an uneasy silence as Cas finally seemed to recognize that Dean didn’t want to talk about class. After a couple awkward minutes of staring-but-not-staring, Cas clapped his hand down on his knee and quickly stood. “There’s a basketball game on tonight that I would love to be watching. Want to ride over to the sports bar? First round is on me.”

Though it wasn’t a nap, and he would have to go back out in the frigid weather, Dean couldn’t deny that the sound of free beer and basketball was a lot better than continuing to sit on his ass in the hallway. 

He stood as well, picking up his bag. “It okay if I stash my books in your car? These things ain’t fucking cheap.”

“Of course. But I must warn you… climbing in and out of The Bean is a pain in the ass.”

Dean had absolutely _no idea_ what Cas was talking about. ‘The Bean’? When they walked outside though, he quickly got his answer. Cas carried his bag and walked straight towards a mustard yellow Pinto.

“Fuck, man, these cars still exist?”

Cas stopped, keys dangling from his hand, and turned to stare at Dean. “Yeah, hi, my name is Castiel and I’m a poor college student.”

“Touché,” Dean said with a snort.

\---

That evening, that one moment of chance, created something between Dean and Cas that neither expected. The mutual aggravation with roommates developed a friendship that lasted throughout their freshman year and the course of the following summer. When they both made it back to campus for their second year, they signed up to be roommates without hesitation.

Dean found that 130 square feet was much more enjoyable with Castiel laying in the bed across from his. And if they pushed the two beds together after only three weeks - who was to blame them?

Suddenly, Dean decided that he was indeed a lucky man. Probably the luckiest. He got to wake up every morning to the sexiest voice imaginable whispering, _’Good morning, Dean.’_


	4. High School

_It’s always a calm touch settling on my shoulder._

\---

Castiel liked to observe. He enjoyed noticing the smallest of details about his classmates. Sometimes he wound up so immersed in his own mind and thoughts that the teachers would get angry with him and assume he didn’t care about school. That wasn’t true. He _loved_ school. He loved learning new things on a daily basis and challenging himself to imagine the impossible.

Unfortunately, the high school didn’t offer classes in his favorite subject.

_Dean. Winchester._

In the middle of the crowded cafeteria, Castiel ignored his friends and stared four tables away to where Dean was holding court. It wasn’t fair, really, for a band geek to be so fucking hot.

It was probably the fingers. Those damn fingers ruled every single one of Castiel’s fantasies. Long and slender, tan and smooth… Dean Winchester’s hands could probably play Castiel just as well as they played the trumpet. 

“Seriously, Cas?”

The inflection in the tone of voice speaking his name, brought his attention back to the table where he was seated. His best friend and on-again-off-again girlfriend Lisa was glaring at him from the chair across from his. She knew him too fucking well. 

Instead of playing innocent and brushing it off, he smirked. “Sorry, doll. I was contemplating the logistics of having a trumpet player finger fuck me.”

She rolled her eyes and Castiel heard Benny howling out a laugh from the other end of the table. Lisa shook her head and pointed a finger a Castiel. “Knock it the fuck off, Cas. You have a reputation to uphold. Fucking the stuck-up British kid was one thing - at least he was mid-level cool - but if you lower yourself to _band geek_? Kiss the popularity and status goodbye.”

“Pretty sure Lisa is just jealous because her pussy has dried up,” Ava mused from her spot next to Castiel. “She misses your dick and doesn’t want it going to waste.”

Benny stood, walking around the table and moving to throw an arm over Castiel’s shoulders and lean against his friend. “Lisa, sweets,” he spoke, “I think you’re forgetting that Cas here is the best fucking quarterback in the state. His popularity is guaranteed no matter whose fingers he has up his ass.”

Lisa let out a huff and quickly stood up. “You’ll see. Touch the geek and you’re doomed.”

\---

The thing was, Lisa really didn’t have much to worry about. Considering how close Dean and his girlfriend Sarah were, Castiel was almost ninety percent certain that Dean was straight.

So he enjoyed his fantasies and never let it go farther than that. Shower time after football practice was always the spot where his dreams went a little wilder than normal. There was something about peeling his uniform off and standing in the locker room wearing nothing but a jockstrap that drove him crazy with lust.

Castiel’s dick hardened immediately when he remembered the last band performance and watching Dean play the trumpet amazingly well. It didn’t escape his notice that when Dean’s plump lips pressed against the mouthpiece of the instrument, it looked a lot like he was kissing the puckered rim of an asshole.

With his ass exposed in the jockstrap, he could practically feel Dean’s lips on his skin and his tongue licking along his hole. Opening him up just enough for those delectable fingers to slide inside and directly over Castiel’s prostate. 

A large hand slapped him on the back as one of the linebackers walked past and congratulated him on his perfect throws. The jolt was just enough to pull him from his reverie.

\---

Because Castiel was so incredibly observant, he usually predicted that bad things were about to transpire long before they actually did. Which is why it was especially disconcerting when Lisa lashed out against Dean without Castiel being any wiser to what was happening. He knew her well enough to know that she must have been scheming for months without him figuring it out.

It started slowly, with Sarah breaking up with Dean in the middle of the crowded halls. “You cheated!” Sarah screamed, loud enough for everyone to hear. When Dean tried to argue, Sarah slapped his face in anger and stormed off.

The next time Castiel heard Dean playing the trumpet, a week after the public break-up, the melody was sad enough to make a grown man cry. It was like hearing _Taps_ played a million times over and over. Castiel stood watching from the doorway of the band room and wished that he knew of some way to help. But he and Dean weren’t friends. They barely even knew each other. 

Lisa’s second play was humiliation. Dean Winchester had two loves: the trumpet and Sarah; and Lisa’s plan was deceptively simple… take both of those things away.

For the final school assembly before spring break the band was scheduled to perform a tribute piece in honor of the Principal’s wife, who had just passed away. The band teacher had spent countless hours perfecting the song and having the students practice the melody.

When all twelve of the band members began to play, everything sounded perfect. And then suddenly Castiel’s attention, along with all of the other students, was focused directly on Dean. While the rest of the band had continued playing in sync, suddenly Dean’s trumpet was creating a completely different song. The melody was upbeat and clashed immediately with the rest of the performance. The rest of the band stumbled in confusion, eyes focusing on Dean. 

Castiel had never seen Dean Winchester as panicked as he was right then in that moment. He pulled his instrument away from his lips and fumbled quickly through the pages of the sheet music before him, but couldn’t seem to figure out where the problem was. He looked up at the band instructor, a silent plea for help. The music just went on without him - forcing Dean to remain standing there, trumpet clutched tight to his chest as he hung his head in shame.

From the row of bleachers behind where Castiel sat, he heard Lisa’s voice. She spoke louder than necessary, obviously wanting as many people as possible to hear. “What a fucking idiot.”

It was then that Castiel realized everything. She had planned Dean’s public shaming out of _spite._

When the band finished but remained standing in the same spot, Castiel watched as Dean hurriedly rushed to the left and exited the auditorium. 

Castiel moved without hesitation, standing and ignoring the ongoing assembly as he walked down the bleacher steps and followed Dean’s path. He knew from experience that following Dean - despite Lisa’s horrendous acts - would be the biggest ‘fuck you’ that he could throw in her face.

There was no need to search for Dean. It didn’t take much observation to know that his ‘safe space’ was always the band room. Castiel stepped inside the room just in time to see a chair being thrown across the large open space. 

He watched in horror as Dean fell to his knees and cried out in anger, hot tears trailing down his cheeks. 

Crossing the room in just a few quick strides, Castiel dipped down and laid his hand softly against Dean’s shoulder. When watery green eyes looked up at him in shock, he gave a sad smile. “I’m so sorry, Dean. This was all my fault…”


	5. Bar

_It’s always a promise of forever._

\---

There were very few things in life that Dean was genuinely proud of. His brother. His bar. And his relationship with Castiel Novak. When he woke on a Friday in June, excitement brewed just beneath his skin. _That_ day would change his life.

The anticipation had him fully awake without the need for his regular cup of coffee, and though he wanted to hurry out of the house and drive to the bar to get it ready, he couldn’t yet. Well… he _could_ but it would mean passing up the opportunity to witness Castiel waking from a peaceful slumber.

He slept like a perfect angel in the bed beside Dean, his features calm and serene. In his thirty years on planet earth Dean had never expected to love someone other than Sammy, as much as he loved Castiel.

Gently, he pushed back the sheets and happily admired the well toned body and tanned flesh of his lover. And that _cock._ Poems could be written about Castiel’s penis.

Dean frowned, wondering if he would be any good at writing poems…

“Gonna have to charge you for staring at it so hard,” a groggy voice mumbled.

Reaching his hand out, Dean let his finger’s brush through the messy strands of Cas’ hair. “I love you too, Bakersfield.”

Like Dean knew it would, the nickname made Castiel groan. Dean didn’t use it often, because Cas hated to be reminded of his hometown, but on a day like that one, it was a closer reference to the first time they met. 

He could still remember his best friend grabbing his attention on that California beach, before Dean could walk over to where Castiel was standing. _’Man, I gotta warn you - he’s a city boy. But he’s got a little country charm.’_

The description was the most accurate thing he had ever heard about Cas. 

Seemingly annoyed with the lack of attention, Castiel raised up off of the bed to kiss the side of Dean’s mouth. “You’re doing a lot of thinking. Nervous?”

“Not at all.” He grinned, licking his lips and flicking his eyes back down to Cas’ cock. “Just wondering if I have time to suck you off before I have to leave.”

“Hmm. Good question.” Castiel stretched out, his cock laying half hard against his belly. “I’m going to go with _yes._ ”

“Congratulations,” Dean said, shifting his body closer to Cas and laying a hand on his stomach. “That’s the correct answer.”

Dean started with a kiss laid against Castiel’s collarbone as he slid his hand down over the jut of his hip. Placing a knee between Cas’ legs and lifting himself above Cas’ tanned body Dean let his mouth follow the path of his hand. He slid his hand down over the soft flesh of Cas’ inner thigh and up again to cup his balls. Dean smiled into the thatch of dark hair below Cas’ navel at the soft sigh of pleasure the touch elicited. He was also very happy to feel a gentle but persistent nudge of Cas’ cock against the side of his face.

He turned his head and opened his mouth, dragging his bottom lip and then his tongue along the shaft from its base. After swirling his tongue around the head once, he sank down the length in one movement, both hands holding Cas’ arching hips firmly in place. 

“Ah, Dean,” Castiel moaned, pulling out the end of Dean’s name and finally breaking the sound with a gasp.

Dean responded by humming around Castiel’s cock before beginning to bob his head up and down. He enjoyed the taste and smell of his boyfriend, inhaling deeply when he’d bottomed out as best he could, Castiel’s pubic hair tickling his nose. When Cas’ hips began to shudder he pulled off, focusing again on the tip of Cas’ cock. When Cas’ breathing slowed and Dean knew he was no longer on the edge, he sank down again, angling his head so he could take in all of Castiel, the tip of Cas’ cock just brushing against the back of his throat. Working his tongue along Cas’ shaft he began pulling his head back and sinking down again, working up a rhythm, picking up speed, until—

“Jesus, Dean—”

Castiel came with a gasp and a moan, his hands clutching at the sheets underneath him. Dean swallowed all of him down, not a particular fan of the taste of come, but getting high off the intimacy it afforded him.

Dean pulled off slowly, crawling up to rest his chin on Cas’ shoulder and planting a kiss at the corner of his mouth. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said, returning the kiss.

“It’s my pleasure.” Dean said, a smile curling the corners of his lips. He was ready and willing to lose himself in those lips, and see where else they could take things, when the unmistakable sound of his ringtone came floating through the air. “Damn it.” He glanced quickly to the clock sitting beside the bed and hung his head. He had pushed his luck and now he was late. Shifting his hips, he let his own erection slide tantalizingly over Castiel’s hip before he quickly pulled away and grabbed his phone. He answered the call and said only, “I’m on my way,” before pressing end and standing.

After a five minute shower, he dressed as quickly as possible and went back to the bedside table to pick up his phone and wallet. A glance to his left showed Castiel, lazily enjoying the afterglow of his orgasm.

Dean faked a glare. “You owe me later.”

A slow smirk slid across Cas’ face. “I’ll make sure my ass is prepped and ready.” 

There was no way of hiding Dean’s full body shiver thanks to _those_ words. “Fuck, Cas. How am I supposed to stand in front of God and my momma and marry you… when all I can think about is your lubed up hole?”

“Wedding nights are crazy for a reason, Dean.”

He smiled, leaning over the bed to kiss Castiel one last time before he left. The next time they kissed, they would be married. “Love you, Bakersfield.”

“Love you more, Peaches. Always and forever.”


	6. Present

_It’s always… **you.**_

\---

_‘We’re not going to talk about this ever again!’_ was both said and implied when Castiel, Dean, and Sam arrived back at the bunker.

Even after years on Earth, Castiel still couldn’t understand the holdup that men and women had in regards to relationships with people of the same gender. It didn’t really matter how fallen he was - he would probably _never_ figure it out.

Once Dean had successfully locked himself up in his own bedroom, Castiel trailed behind Sam towards the kitchen and dining area in hopes that his friend would make enough food for them both. Unless it was peanut butter and jelly, Castiel’s culinary skills were seriously lacking. 

“I’m going to make some chicken salad,” Sam mused. He looked over at Castiel briefly before opening the refridgerator. “That alright with you?”

He nodded, sitting down at the table. “Anything would be just fine. Thank you, Sam.”

Sam placed an open beer bottle down in front of Castiel, before beginning to prepare their dinner. He could only hold his tongue for a couple of moments. “You know, I don’t get why he’s so upset. It’s not like either of us are going to judge him for having an ex- _boyfriend_.”

“Were you aware of his interest in men?” Castiel questioned before taking a quick sip of his beer. He didn’t much care for the taste, but it seemed that as an ‘honorary Winchester’, he was required to like it.

“Of course.” Sam looked over his shoulder to stare at Castiel like he had grown two heads. “It’s pretty fucking obvious.”

“Oh.” He frowned. Apparently he had once again missed something that was ‘obvious’ because he had no idea what Sam was talking about. 

Sam waited until he was done fixing their food before sitting down across from Castiel and raising his eyebrows. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

Castiel looked down at his chicken salad sandwich, before looking back up at Sam and shaking his head. “None whatsoever.” 

“ _You_ , Cas. I know that Dean likes men because I know that he likes _you._ ”

“Oh.” His frown deepened as Sam’s words set in. “ _Ohhh._ ”

“You two are absolutely ridiculous.”

\---

Sam wasn’t wrong, of course. Castiel was newly human but even so it didn’t take much to understand that his feelings for Dean ran on a different level than his feelings for Sam. When he was an angel, he assumed that the cause of that was the profound bond he shared with Dean. And maybe initially it was… but, over time, things had definitely changed.

For the next two weeks, all that Castiel could think about were his feelings towards Dean and the _thing_ that always seemed to settle between them. Even if he could admit to liking - well, actually, loving - Dean, that didn’t mean the other man felt the same way. 

It was easy for Castiel to imagine scenarios where he did, though. Other times and places where they were different people because of the circumstances of life, but still just Castiel and Dean. No matter how the scenes played out in his mind, though, they always ended the same. They _always_ ended with love.

What Castiel couldn’t comprehend was whether or not his own emotions were tarnishing the various imagined outcomes.

Either way, he was going to slowly go mad if he kept thinking about all of the possibilities without actually finding out Dean’s feelings. He waited until Sam had gone out for the evening to get supplies, knowing that the conversation he wanted to have with Dean would be better done in private. 

Once Sam had left, he walked down the hallway and stopped outside Dean’s closed bedroom door. He stood there for a solid five minutes, afraid to knock and even more afraid to actually go in. Apparently he could fight to stop the apocalypse but wasn’t brave enough to confront Dean Winchester about _feelings._

Steeling himself, he went over his planned speech one last time before finally lifting his hand and knocking on the door. As he waited patiently for an answer, Castiel realized that Dean might not even be awake and… _then what?_

“Come on in,” a voice called from inside the room.

After a deep breath, Castiel opened the door and walked inside. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean was reading a book, sitting on the bed with his legs spread out in front of him and his back against the wall behind him. “ _Cas._ Everything okay?”

Hours of planning and concentration and mentally preparing himself for that moment… were immediately erased. Castiel took one look at Dean, remembered all of those various scenarios, and blurted out the plain and simple truth. “I’m in love with you.”

It wasn’t exactly elegant, but at least it was out there. While Dean tried to pick his jaw up from the floor, Castiel quickly continued. “I’ve gone over it in my mind for weeks… all of the different ways our lives could have gone. If I wasn’t an angel and we met as regular men. It was always the same, Dean. No matter the place; no matter the circumstance. We always ended up together. _In love._ ”

“Cas—”

He felt a deep ache rush over him as he closed his eyes and anticipated Dean’s rejection. Because his eyes were closed, he didn’t see Dean stand up from the bed and walk closer, but he _felt_ it. Castiel blinked his eyes back open.

“Two weeks ago when we got back from that hunt involving… _him,_ Sam and I got into an argument one night. He yelled about how sick and tired he was of seeing me unhappy and watching me deny my feelings because I was scared of everyone else’s judgement.” Dean snorted and turned his head to look to his right. “He’s right. Fuck, I’m almost forty years old and I’m still living my life like I expect my dad to show up any day and kick my ass for liking men.”

All of his worrying and fear had been for nothing. Sam had stepped up and spoken to Dean without Castiel even needing to. “Dean…”

“Don’t tell Sam this, but the kid’s spot on.” Dean met his gaze and held it, his feet inching forward to erase the gap between them. “He’s watched you and I for so many years that he saw whatever was happening long before we wanted to admit it.”

“I wish he had said something earlier,” Castiel said with a huff.

Dean grew quiet, waiting a long moment and staring deep into Castiel’s eyes. “These uh… _other versions_ of us, you said they always end up happy?”

Castiel shook his head. “I said they always end up in love. Always together.”

“I can see that.” He reached up and laid his hand gently on Castiel’s cheek. “Because I could predict a million different outcomes for my life and the answer to true happiness would always be the same, Cas. It would always be you.”


	7. Poem

It’s always blue eyes staring into my soul.  
It’s always tan skin beneath my fingers.  
It’s always a deep voice saying my name.  
It’s always a calm touch settling on my shoulder.  
It’s always a promise of forever.  
It’s always… **you.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks (x1000!) to my good friend [deadpai](http://deadpai.tumblr.com) for the amazing art surprise that I know Miss Hufflecas will love. ;)


End file.
